Agape
by VioletW
Summary: "You always run away from love. Because it opens up your chest and leaves you bare, exposed to the inevitable rage of the leviathan; who slithers in and tears you apart - but she makes you feel like what you've thought about love; has been wrong all along." A collection of random moments between Gail and Holly throughout their lives together. Written from both Gail and Holly's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello fellow Gail/Holly lovers :)**

**I'm new to this side of the FanFiction world, I've spent all my writing time in the Skins universe. But I absolutely love the Gail/Holly pairing, I'm a long time Rookie Blue fan (being filmed in my city does boost my love a little bit) and an even bigger Gail fan. So I decided to take a stab at writing these two, I hope I don't do too bad a job!**

**Thanks in advance for reading.**

* * *

She still startles you.

To this day, there isn't a moment in time that is expected; there isn't a second in which you aren't completely and utterly in ruin. She came into your life with the subtlety of a freight train, and you know if you take one breath on this earth without her; that your heart will cease to beat. She has become your soul, your will - your everything. Above all things, she is yours; much to your advantage.

The thing about Gail Peck is that she is perfection. Raw, honest, true and divine. One of those creatures that you watch in awe from behind a thick layer of glass you paid far too much money to stand behind, or in silence projected in highest quality on your television screen. Nothing prepared you for her entrance into your life, there was no possible way you were ready to have her invade your mind, and her dive into your heart was so intense; it almost drove you to madness. And you know there are many things in life that you can explain, and many things that you can understand. But she is neither explainable nor understood, and it makes you sad - sad because you wish you could shout from every rooftop just how special this woman is - sad because no one else seems to register her angelic existence quite like you do. And it's in moments like these, where the words you so desperately wish to form; seem completely unattainable.

"Holly? What's wrong?"

You've startled her this time. Startled her with your unannounced entrance into her prescient doors, and you feel like apologizing profusely. Because you seem to do this quite often, barging into her world without word or warning, and it feels a little invasive to be doing this; invasive like someone rummaging through your purse without permission - someone entering your lab uninvited. But instead of apologising, you decide to take a deep breath; and open your mouth. _Bad idea_.

"I uhm... well I uh... you see..."

She smiles at you - as in _really _smiles - as she takes your hand in hers, ever so gently.

"Holly, _breath _sunshine. That's it."

Normally - and you know this from the way she handles her perpetrators, from the way she talks to her friends and colleagues - her tone would be that of a condescending menace, but not now. Never now, never towards you.

"I'm sorry I just..."

She cuts your sentence off - unaware as she is - when she starts to trace gentle circles atop your knuckles. You can't focus, not when her soft hands are soothing you like this. It doesn't seem to matter where exactly she touches you; just the fact that she touches you _anywhere_ is enough to send your mind plummeting over the edge of oblivion. Not only is your mind absent, but she does even worse things to your words. They become jumbled and undecipherable, clumped up and messy. Not to mention your body. And it isn't in the way your knees tremble, and it most certainly isn't in the way your hands shake and sweat underneath her warm touch. No, it's in the way her eyes sparkle as they dance with your own; it's always just in the way she _looks _at you.

"Hi."

It's all you manage to croak out, and even you are shocked at the clarity in which you've come to greet the woman standing in front of you; the girl of your dreams.

"Hey."

"Listen I... well I've... come to the realization that you're kind of..."

It's a jumbled mess. She knows it, you know it. The balding man behind the desk knows it, but for some reason; no one comes to your rescue. _You are resentful._

"...what I'm trying to say Gail, is that I get it."

She breaks eye contact with you then, and looks down at your entwined fingers.

"I know why you rejected it, why you rejected _me _and I... just want you to know that it's okay. Really."

You see her mouth start to open, a tell tale sign that she is about to protest; so you decide to stop her in your own, specific 'Holly Stewart' way. You take over the silence with your annoying babble.

"I don't doubt your love for me. How could I? I guess I just had this _idea _of the perfect path for us in my head that I just... forgot to ask you about it. About what _you _wanted. So... for that, I apologize."

It's a lame attempt at exhibition - you both know it - but she takes it anyway; relaxing a little as she exhales slowly.

"Holly. I didn't say _no _because I don't love you. It's just not something I want out of life. It never has been, marriage seems to have lost its luster over the years, lost its true value."

You squeak out a small 'I know' before you hear her radio start to crackle, something inaudible only she can hear as she tilts her head just a little in its direction. And then, it's all over. In the blink of an eye, this conversation you've been too scared to have, the one that's been making your head throb all morning in the small confines of your quiet lab is over as quickly as it started.

* * *

_4 hours prior..._

In this moment, you are taking her in. The sun is rising, casting an eerie pink glow into your bedroom; cascading light over Gail's sleeping form. And her beauty still shocks you to this day - albeit a bit unfair you think, that she looks stunning in every situation - but you know that _this _is your favorite version of her. Steady breaths, silky skin; and her trademark frown is all but disappeared from her beautiful face. And it's these moments you really _look _at her, you really _see _her. The quiet slumber of a woman you adore with all your soul, at rest and peaceful in the warm embrace of your comfy bed. Because you've always imagined her to be somewhat of an angry sleeper - fists and jaw clenched, ready to spit venom and throw punches at any moment - because god knows you've heard the comments from her co-workers and exes enough times on your surprise visits to her place of work. But with you, and it seems _only _with you, does she look this gentle; this peaceful and at ease. And for that, you always wonder how you got so lucky. How it seems like the universe pointed at you one day and decided you needed a gift. A gift of a woman too beautiful for this world, inside and out. You're tracing the muscles in her back lightly, delineating each freckle on her torso like a map of the gods. A few short seconds later she starts to stir, causing you to cease your movements temporarily on her back as you lean in and kiss her shoulder. She takes a deep breath - as she does every time she wakes - and you run a finger lightly up and down the length of her spine.

"Good morning, Officer."

Another kiss planted on her shoulder causes a quick shiver from Gail, one of your favorite things.

"_Gaaah_. What _time _is it?" she mutters, smiling as she takes your hand in hers and kisses it.

"A little past six. Are you hungry?"

She smiles at you and buries her face in the pillow, an action you find absolutely adorable. Popping her head up again, she reveals a cheeky grin on her face. Most likely a response to your offer of making her breakfast.

"I've been told that when a woman shows her 'domestic side', it means she is completely and utterly in love with you."

And you are, completely and utterly, so you reply simply:

"Yes."

She quirks an eyebrow up at you - yet another habit you find absolutely adorable - and you smile in return. A genuine smile you imagine, because she's never been one for words. She seems to like watching you, reading you. Because she _can_ read you, like a book. Which is why you're startled when this perfect moment is ruined with four simple words.

"Will you marry me?"

Before you can even blink, she's bolted upright on the bed, hand clasped onto the blanket held around her naked torso. And you reckon it's all over, just by the look on her face.

"Holly... no. what are you- look. Marriage is a joke, okay? It doesn't _mean _anything anymore. To anyone."

Her words aren't meant to be harsh, in fact, her tone is quite loving. But nothing can ease the pain inside your heart, the one that comes from that horrendous two-letter answer; 'No'. It's the worst form of rejection you can think of feeling, and it tears you apart inside. So you sit upright to mirror her position, unable to make eye contact with her. You bite your bottom lip furiously, because you want to stop the tears from falling. Because you always want to protect Gail, especially from your own feelings. _You've always felt too much. _

"I need to shower."

You jump off the bed as fast as you can, leaving a trail of bedding in your wake. It's obvious you can't stay there anymore - with her - because you're afraid you'll say something regretful. Running the tap as hot as it can go, you slip out of your clothes and pull the curtain back. Hoping the heat of the water will wash away all feelings of hurt in your body, you scrub as hard as you can. trying to erase the black marks on your skin, the marks of sadness. Because the big picture always was the fact that she is _yours,_ or at least that's what you imagined. But you know that this simple question and answer duo is something of a solidifying action. Because Gail has never been one that you can read easily, that tells you her feelings easily; one that makes everything absolutely clear to you. And that resolve only lasts a few minutes, as you curse yourself for being quick in the shower.

"You're mad."

It's not a question as much as it is a statement, as you pad around the kitchen taking out a mug from the cupboard.

"Drop it, Gail."

You hope that your strained tone is enough to make her back off, but you've never had much luck getting what you hope for.

"Hol..."

She's fully dressed, looking ravishing as usual in her heavy uniform. Black shirt hugging her toned frame, honorable patches donned on each shoulder. Vest protecting her precious torso strapped and ready, utility belt slung loosely over her perfect hips. And the sight of her standing before you - intimidating queen of strength in that uniform, gentle and kind girlfriend holding a mug of coffee, and looking at you _so _intensely - you almost forget your frustration. _Almost. _

"Gail, I mean it."

"Why are you mad?"

"I'm not. Leave it alone-"

"It doesn't take a nerd to see you're upset with me. What have I done?"

You've had enough, the artery in your heart seems to burst upon hearing her ask you that irritatingly simple question - and it's something you know you'll soon regret doing; snapping like this.

"You seriously don't know what's wrong with me? I _meant _it, Gail. I asked you to marry me and you said no! How can I _not _be mad? You've rejected me in the biggest possible way, and I'm really hurt."

She steps back from you, and places her mug on the counter. Taking a deep breath, she sits down on the bar stool next to you, eyes fixed out the giant window leading to your balcony.

"Holly, I don't... know how to explain this. it's not _you,_ it's the whole 'marriage' thing. A stupid, expensive wedding, gold rings, city hall, human rights... it's turned into this big thing with people being told who they can and can't marry; just another way of controlling things from people who have no business controlling anything."

_You know how much Gail _hates_ feeling controlled. How she hates being _told_ what she can and can not do._

"And then you've got joint bank accounts, money problems, conflicting schedules, conflicting parenting, fighting, drinking... divorce-"

"Stop."

You've had enough, her negativity on a subject far too sensitive for you is causing a massive migraine in your head. You want to tell her how wrong she is, that marriage is beautiful if it's with the right person - and you strongly believe the two of you are that person - and that she shouldn't think that way about marriage. Because in your own little way, you associate love with marriage; and think of it as the end to a chapter. The end of searching for 'the one', and a way of solidifying your love for each other. The ring thing isn't that bad either, you quite like the fact you get to wear a piece of jewelry that lets the world know you are happily off the market, something that shows equal merit to the people you don't see with Gail. Call it old-fashioned, because you like idea of belonging to her, of her belonging to you. But you don't say any of that, because you're not brave enough, you're not strong enough. So instead, you opt out; and walk off in the direction of your bedroom with an icy response.

"Have a good day at work."

* * *

You can hear the clock ticking behind your eyes, as it's hands slowly move in time with the beat of your aching heart. They always said love was supposed to feel like this, an intense pain; but you never thought they would be right. You never thought you would want it like that - love. But it's here, burrowed inside your heart as it thumps away in your chest; and you think for just a minute what it would feel like to rip that feeling out. How empty your heart would feel without the gentle confines of love, how empty you would be without Gail.

"Hey."

There's a gentle tap on the wall behind you, and again - she's startled you.

"Hey." you smile back, that smile you can't help but burst into upon sight of her; the one that almost hurts.

"I know we had a few things to say before... but couldn't because of... you know." she shrugs, trying to exhibit frustration with her radio; but the sight just makes your smile wider.

"We're good Gail, I promise. I understand, and I think I actually agree."

She nods then, but drops her gaze from you as she studies the small tiles on the floor of your lab. As she mumbles something inaudible, you close the gap between she and you; hands reaching for her stiff uniform vest. Taking the lapels in each hand, she finally raises her eyes to meet your own. The intensity of those eyes... _you're startled again. _

"I can't give you a ring. But what about a key?"

She pulls out a folded piece of paper from her pocket, and starts to unfold it between the two of you. When she finally manages to fully open it, you realize it is the Properties section of the newspaper.

"I'm tired of living with smelly men and well... your condo is on the ground floor. I don't like that."

She looks up at you again, and runs her fingers along the soft edges of the inked piece of paper.

"You're asking me to move in."

It's more of a statement than a question - this time on your end - and when she gently places her soft lips upon your own, you know in that instance that your life is about to change. Change for the better, because Gail is trying. She's been trying with you since the very beginning, you know that. And you're touched, that she tries. Because you know it's never been easy for her, to really make it work with someone. To allow herself to get lost with you, lost in the daydreams of what might be; the uncertain and utterly terrifying future. But with Gail by your side, the future doesn't seem so terrifying anymore. Nothing really does.

"Yup."

And there it is again, you're startled once more.

* * *

**Sooo... what'd ya think? Should I continue? I have a few more chapters in the works, both of on-screen and off-screen scenes. So if you have any specific scenes from their time on-screen that you want me to take a stab at writing, feel free to suggest away! **

**Oh, and if you could please review? I love feedback almost as much as I love sarcastic and feisty girls. Almost ;)**

**xoVioletW**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. ****I am completely blown away with the response I've received from each and every one of you. Thank you, SO much.**

**That being said, here is my sad excuse for appreciation in the form of another chapter :) Now, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but the scenes written won't be in sequential order; they are _random_ after all :P**

**I kind of like the idea of writing for you guys and having you figure out who's POV I'm in, but I realize (sorry _Guest! _you were correct, last chapter was Holly's) that it might be a little confusing... let me know if it's hard to figure out, okay?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The first thing you feel is anger.

It doesn't register right away, and if you're being completely honest with yourself; you figured you were worth more than that. Worth more than the total, non-committed agony that comes with being blown off. You thought you had Holly pegged, the second she said the words 'I' 'am' and 'lesbian', you had put her into this category. A category you understand completely, a category you feel is your area of expertise. That category you like to manipulate and fiddle with, the one all the captivated and enchanted boys have been filed away and labeled into; the category of helplessness. The kind of helplessness when it comes to you, the ones that worship you and follow you around like you hold the cure in a world riddled with disease. You categorized her this way - placing her into that large and over-stuffed box - because you thought she was predictable. Maybe you could play puppeteer with her as easily as you do with men - that maybe, just maybe, you might have had someone around that _wanted_ your company badly; because in some weird sense those people make you feel better about yourself. Being the object of lust does things to you - your icy exterior is only made strong by the sweat and tears of the rejected - it makes you feel important. And it's selfish to think this way, you know that, especially because you and Holly are _friends_. Not _just _friends_, _but a real, committed, enjoyable _friendship_ between you and someone you feel really likes spending time with you. Someone who genuinely _likes_ your prickly demeanor, someone who doesn't flinch when you send sarcasm their way; someone who accepts everything about you and encompassed you into their life with open arms. And surprisingly, someone _you_ actually enjoy just the same. And nothing has ever told you that she wanted more than that - which is somewhat of a contradiction, because you've never been one to base your feelings around someone else's - so you sum it all up to the fact that you _wanted _her to want you. Because it would make you feel better. About Nick's rejection, about Andy's rejection; even your mothers' rejection. That maybe, just maybe, Holly could make up for all those things lacking in your personal life, in your work life. You've never felt important to anyone before, you've never felt as if you excel at the job you've been born and bred to do - Steve became the family's golden idol in that department long ago. So all you seem to have had was this category, this 'box' - the one you seemed to associate with self-worth - so when you're blown off by Holly, that one person you placed so high on the steps towards your minds' easement; your exterior starts to crack just a little.

You watch her from across the room. The loud, obnoxious floor of The Penny; as she laughs and flirts with a girl you already hate. And this feeling registers as anger within you, because you refuse to acknowledge the surprise jolt you felt that night when she kissed you. A random, fur coat around your shoulders, sultry smirk planted firmly on her moist lips. You're angry at her, at her 'friend' - the nicest way you can describe the woman sitting across from _your _Holly - as surrogates for yourself. You're angry because _you _are the idiot in that category. _You_ are the one who can't resist _her_.

"A double? Someone's in the mood to party."

It's Chris. He bounds off in the direction of that sacred bar, the one that holds the liquid solace you seek; and his slow return is almost too long for you to bare. The other woman is making her laugh, the other woman is making her smile. That one smile you thought was just for you - and for a moment you think it's not quite the way she smiles at you - before your insecurities surface once more. Because if you were secure, you would be able to see that her smile isn't quite reaching her eyes, you would be able to see that Holly doesn't look at her with that same intensity she does you. But you are insecure - because she jumped out of that box - so now all you see is someone else making her laugh. And you hate it. You're furious.

"Here you go, a double. Ready?"

He holds his drink firmly in his hands, eyebrow arched, awaiting your acknowledgment. And the fact that you feel insecure, in which that feeling makes you feel like being a raging bitch; you down your drink without but a word.

"I guess that's a yes." he mumbles, before downing his shot of tequila, placing another drink for you down on the table.

"What's with you tonight?"

He's watching you, and it doesn't help to ease your mood. You hate it when he does this - when he decides to study you at random moments - because you know that he always seems to watch you when you're too occupied to hide something. You haven't taken your eyes off of them, so he decides to look in the direction of your interest. _You wish you had been more subtle. _

"Aaah... Still can't handle being blown off I see?"

The truth he speaks rings in your ears like a flashbang, and you wince a little at his words. The fact that he seems to know you so well, the fact that he says things to you that he really, _really _shouldn't; makes you instinctively send him an icy glare.

"Woah there, Princess. Don't get mad at me, but you know as much as I do that being second choice doesn't bring out the best in you."

his hands are up in mock surrender, but it doesn't matter. You smack him anyways, and his cry of pain seems to disturb a few conversations around you, not to mention the happy couple across the room; breaking their moment of laughter. And the fact that you were able to somehow disturb their moment without actually _doing_ anything, makes you feel a slight bit better.

"Will you stop whimpering? Any female attention you had just _died,_ genius."

He rubs his arm furiously, as you take a much needed gulp of your alcohol. And it's then you notice - through the foggy glass to your lips - that she's looking at you. In that simple 'Holly' way of hers, the way that makes your spine tremble. She smiles at you, before turning to the other girl for a quick exclusion. She makes her way to the toilets, before you're tapped on the shoulder a little too dramatically.

"Gail... Gail! I need to tell... err... _ask _you something."

"Dov, if you poke me with that little razor finger again I'm gonna break it off."

And he does, just like that.

"Gail... can you," he points a shaky hand in your direction "...turn off the 'Ice Queen' for a sec- I jus... do you know what love feels like?"

You flinch at the word; _love_. The one that's been so cruel to you over the years, you've grown to fear the mere mention of that evil four-letter monster.

"Woah, wait that di'in quite... come out right."

"I know what you meant."

You silence him as quick as you can, with a truth you never wanted to admit to anyone; including yourself.

"I don't know what love feels like. The movies tell us it's all sunshine and roses, but that's never the case. Is it?"

He ponders your question for a moment - with as much concentration as an inebriated man can muster - before he works up a reply.

"Sometimes love is like, paaaainful. But sometimes it's easy, y'know? Like me and Chloe... it's _sooo_ easy. Where as, you, your love is _deeeep_." he clenchs his fists together for emphasis, and you wish right then and there that he would just drop to the floor from too much alcohol. You'll even take alcohol poisoning at this moment - the terrifying sight of your friend convulsing on the floor before you - because you can't handle what he's said; you can't admit it to yourself. But the world has never been that kind to you.

"You deserve that back-breaking love, Gail."

And just like that, he skips off into the arms of his disgustingly sweet and perfect for him girlfriend; leaving you with nothing but an echo. An echo that seems to encircle you as you sit there - jaw open - stunned into stillness. Because no one has ever said such a thing to you, and you wonder for a moment if Dov was ever _really _a part of this conversation. That maybe, he was just a vessel for the honest truth the universe needed to offer you; that maybe this was a moment you needed to have for a long time. Just then, you remember something suddenly: Holly is in the washroom. And you've yet to know why you need to see her so desperately, but if feels like you're literally _craving _her presence within you. So you jump out of your seat like a loon - causing a few people at a table behind you to shift furiously in reaction - and head towards the wooden door labeled 'Ladies'. Not even a moment to collect yourself do you take, before you've placed your hand on the door. Just as you push it open, you see Holly, leaning over the sink with hands on either side; head bowed. You slow your movements instinctively, pushing the door open a little slower and stepping inside with calculated steps. She doesn't lift her head from the sink though, as if she is lost deep in thought. Lost in that beautiful mind of hers, you imagine. Subtly was never your strong suit, so you walk over to the sink one over from her, and start to wash warm water over your ice-cold hands. You wonder when they got so cold.

"If you've forgotten how to wash your hands, there's a cartoon right above the tap."

You say it sarcastically, without looking at her, so you completely miss the small jump she does in reaction to your break in silence.

"No I-... I don't feel very well. Fries probably aren't agreeing with me."

You can't help the scoff that escapes your lips in response.

"Right, _that _must be it. You're such a light-weight, nerd."

You're still glancing down at the water running smoothly over your hands, but you see her lift her head to look at you from the corner of your eye. Her mouth opens - you see her start to say something - but she stops herself. You wonder why. So you decide to turn off the tap, grab a paper towel, and look at her. And looking at her causes your hands to start fiddling with the paper. _A nervous habit, that._

She doesn't say anything to you, she's just _looking _at you. And it makes you nervous when she does that - because there's always been something unnerving about the way she looks at you, like she's looking _into _you - which only makes you fiddle more with the paper in your hands. Because in that moment, you realize she is trying to convey something incredibly important to you with that look, something you're not quite sure what it is. But you know it makes the muscles in your stomach tighten, and you don't like it. So you crumple your paper up, send it sailing into the bin behind her, and make a hasty exit out the door; leaving her with four simple words meant as a form of both endearment, and goodbye:

"See you later, loser."

* * *

You've been walking for what feels like an hour - when in reality its probably only been ten minutes - and the biting cold is starting to slice your wind-beaten skin. But none of that matters now, not the chill in the air, not the numbness in your hands. In some weird little way you've been walking, hoping the cold will numb your mind as well as your body; because it hasn't stopped moving a mile a minute since you left The Penny. It's instinct, human nature to over-think things. But it's not exactly _things _that you're over-thinking, it's your own thoughts; which brings everything around full circle. You're trying to figure out exactly _why _you're so angry, why you're so angry with yourself. Because you can't map out precisely where your jealousy lies. And it's a shock to you - that you're even able to register your feelings at all - that you're jealous, because you can't admit to yourself that you're jealous of the woman who sat across from Holly. The one who was able to amuse her, make her smile; hold her attention. Because you want to be the only person that causes those reactions from her, because when Holly smiles - you smile. Because in actuality, it's Holly that makes _you _laugh and smile, and that isn't something that happens. Ever. Sure, Nick made you smile, sometimes even chuckle, but it never made you so analytical like this... and then you have to stop. Because really, you're comparing your _female friend _to your _ex boyfriend_. And it's that thought process that is scaring you - because lumping the two of them into the same occupied space means _so_ much more than you're willing to admit to yourself - so instead, you sum it all up to the fact that you're jealous of _sharing_ your time with your friend.

That is an easier thought to process.

"Gail! Wait up- Jesus it's _freezing!_"

Again, it's Chris.

"What do _you _want?"

You didn't mean to sound so irritable, but it's the first words you've spoken since you plummeted into your crazed mind. And that jump into the abyss never encourages manners in you; ridiculous as that sounds.

"Nothing I just... Didn't really feel like walking home alone. Plus, you're a woman. It's only courteous that I make sure you get home safe."

He grins goofily in your direction, because he knows exactly what kind of response his archaic comment will evoke in you. But instead if laying into him with all the female power propaganda you can muster, you take in a deep, shaky breath and watch the smoke billow around you upon your exhale. Because really - as stupid you think he can be - he's a decent guy. One of those guys that still holds the door open for people when they enter or exit a store in front of him - one of those guys that actually _believes _in behaving like a proper human being. And it's a sad thought you think, that there aren't more people like Chris - not that you've ever given the notion that you deserve such a person in your life - because you think that maybe you might not be so hard if there were.

"Thanks for the concern."

He skips a step, clearly baffled by your unexpected reply, before joining at your side once again. Shaking his head with a smile on his face, he exhales smoke out of his grinning mouth while he says:

"She really has an effect on you, doesn't she?"

That comment is enough to dissolve every warm thought towards him or anything else you may have held in you.

"You're very brave tonight, Christopher."

And just like that, he mutes himself. Because if there's any clear indicator that he has crossed a line, it's when you say his full name. Its a tool you don't use too often - being a police officer has instilled 'power and responsibility' in you - so it continues to hold merit when you do use it. Because you know _exactly _where that comment would have led the conversation; you know exactly what that specific comment _means _to you, regardless of whether he caught on or not. And you don't like it, one bit.

"Are you warm enough?"

He touches your cold cheek lightly with the back of his finger - just a simple show of concern from your friend - but it infuriates you. Because you really didn't want him to touch you like that, with such care and concern, because he is the very last person you want to touch you like that. Because you really want Holly to touch you like that - as she has a few times before - and you'd rather associate the action with her. And it's that mere thought that is causing you to be so anxious, so you move your face from him briskly; and quicken your pace.

"Gail? have I done something wrong tonight?"

"No Chris. I'm just... tired."

Its a raw and honest truth, you both know it. But you don't feel like getting into it with him, because you've spent enough time thinking about things tonight. Because you really are tired, mentally tired. So you decide that it's finally the time to stop the gears on overdrive in your mind, slipping your arm in his as you walk together.

"Do you think anything is still open this time of night?"

He shrugs. "You mean for food?"

"No," You shake your head, more smoke encircling the two of you with each word spoken. "I want a video game."

He stops in his tracks - something that makes absolutely no sense considering the frigid temperature outside - before his face lights up in realization.

"Dov bought that new shooter game last night."

You smirk at him, because that kind of manic entertainment is exactly what you need right now.

"Let's go home and _unwrap _it for him."

* * *

**There you have it, chapter two! I'm sorry the chapters are a little short, but they are _moments_ after all :P**

**It seems last chapter I made Gail out to be sorta... cold? which wasn't my intention. Her thoughts will be revealed in time, but I feel that sometimes (especially in regards to Gail) personal experiences outweigh a pipe dream. That's understandable, right?**

**Thanks again for reading, and also for those of you kind enough to review!**

**As always, reviews are always welcome and _genuinely_ appreciated!**

**xoVioletW**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello readers :) **

**Thank you for all the follows, favs, reviews. I really appreciate them, and it makes this all worth it to know that you are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. **

**That being said, I feel I need to give a little 'back story' to this chapter. The day Gail denied a panicked Holly any public affection - I believe - may have been because she crossed a line for Gail, forcing her into a corner that she doesn't like standing in. I saw the scene as something she would have stored away and used as an outlet after the shootings, saying that Holly encroached on her space far too early, far too assuming. **

**That's my take at least. What's yours?**

* * *

It's a heated argument. At best.

One you hadn't intended on having - and you really didn't foresee it, because you can't exactly fathom how she could take something you did out of pure panic and turn it into a serious transgression - but it's happened anyways.

"_You _kissed _me_, Gail. No matter what, you _know _I'm here. I was there at the hospital, I was there when you couldn't sleep last night... I'm _still _here!"

You never shout, not ever. But she's scaring you, fear is rattling your very bones. She woke up this morning a different person than the one you went to bed with, different from the fatigued and shattered shell of a ornery woman you held tight in your arms not but nine hours before. She's awakened into the hard, sarcastic and virtually closed-off woman that you've seen her be with everyone else, everyone except for you. And that fact bothers you. It scares you. It scares you because you know already that you love her, you've known for quite a while. And that gnawing feeling starting to encircle your heart isn't helping you, it never helps you.

"Gail?"

She isn't responding. She's just pacing around your small apartment, fists clenched; jaw aligned. And you know you're getting carried away - feeling too much for both of you - so you need to relax; you need to breathe. Because Gail Peck once compared herself to a cat - climbing up trees too steep for her to handle, creating emergencies to get out of said tree - but you know she was giving herself far too much credit by comparing herself to a brave; yet cowardly feline. It's not a lame attempt at an insult, far from it if you really think about it. But Gail Peck is quite like a spider - more afraid of you than you are of it.

"Gail, please. Look at me? I'm scared, okay?"

_Projection. It just might work. _

"You're scared?" she's stopped pacing, and looks at you for the first time since she woke in the looming light of your apartment. But it isn't a look of refreshment, or comfort. It's a look of expectation, a look of explanation.

"I'm scared for your friends, I'm scared for you. But I'm also scared... _of _you."

She's confused, you can see it. And you know what you've said is confusing - that it demands more explaining - but you need to be cautious about what information you divulge to her. Because you have to talk her off the ledge, praying within yourself that maybe the raw energy of truth will make her stay. You've always secretly been hoping that maybe she will rescue you from yourself - be the hero she is to everyone else - somehow calming your busy mind and soaking it thoroughly with the smooth embrace of consistency. That maybe she could ease your heart, solidifying its uneasy beat with the concrete grip of her warm palm. But you've come to realize that she can't be that person for you. Too many scars are donned on her gruff exterior, too much pain and anguish beneath each layer of brutality. she is a stoic stature of a woman created to mirror the image of pure, impervious strength; that in reality is nothing like its camouflage. And it's in a breath of finality when you realize, that this is exactly what _you _need to be for _her. _You wear the badges now, the bulletproof vests; the teflon. _You_ have to be Gail's hero.

"I care about you, a lot. More than I want to. And it... scares me, this whole situation does. Because you're a very complex woman, Gail. You're _special_ and I... want to make sure I can be everything you need me to be."

She's watching you, every feature on your face, every movement of your hands. You know in your gut that she's waiting for a sign - something you do subconsciously - _anything _that will contradict the words forming from your mouth. But there's nothing. No incongruity, no paradox, no lies; no tricks. You've stripped yourself bare for her, and now she knows it. All that's left now is for you to wait and see what she does with it all. You don't have to wait very long.

"I'm scared too."

She slumps down in defeat on your sofa - the one that cracks with the sound of many a company sat upon it - and holds her head in her hands. And it's all you can do to hold yourself back from running over to the other woman and wrapping your arms around her, because you know that if you move too fast; you'll spook her. So you take each step carefully, cursing the wood floor that creaks lightly under each step you take; until finally your sat next to Gail on that very same sofa.

"I'm sorry, for everything. I'm sorry for shouting at you, I'm sorry for Sam and Chloe. But I won't be sorry for coming into the prescient that day."

She still hasn't responded, and that's okay. Because you need to get this off of your chest, that maybe, just maybe; giving her a glimpse into your heart will help her understand you a little better. That maybe she'll understand _why _it was so urgent for you to lay eyes on her that day; how important she is to you. The crippling truth of the fact that you'd be completely shattered - heartbroken - if anything was to happen to her.

"Gail, he was _hunting _you, and he had already shot _at you_. I won't apologize for that because I don't know what I would have done if you had taken your friends' place."

Your sentence was formed like that of a soldiers' army, no man left behind. And after it's all been said and done, she starts to shake just a little; and so you place a gentle hand on her shoulder right before her shivers increase. And it's that moment between the two of you - where you've both become so exhausted by the weight of what's happened - that finally breaks the resolve. Your arms are wrapped around her tightly as silent sobs escape her perfect lips, as your own tears stain her silky blonde locks. You are holding her close - something you've never stopped wanting to do with her every minute of every day since the moment you met her - and she is clinging to you so tightly; you almost want to pinch yourself. Because you can't believe how close she's allowed herself to be to you - mentally and physically - that she is literally holding onto you like she'll fall without you. Her arms are wrapped around your middle and you can feel her inhales and exhales along the nape of your neck, as you're circled around her shoulders; tracing soothing patterns along her back. And this moment lasts a lot longer than you thought it would, not that you're complaining. Because in a completely intangible way - this brings you a hoard of happiness you never expected. You think it rather cruel to be warmed by pain, but it's not really about that. No, it's about the mere fact that _you _are consoling _Gail;_ the unattainable beauty that strolled into your life not months before. She is in your arms, _she _chose _you,_ and you're protecting her with everything you've got; because you can. Because you _want _to. But most of all?

Because she's letting you.

"Mer crrs arr cmffe."

She breaks the silence, with an inaudible mumble against your neck. Her head burrowed perfectly in that place where your shoulder ends and your neck starts - and coincidentally - where the hood of your sweater is placed perfectly for such hidden words.

"What?"

You pull back slightly, brushing the stray locks out of her face gently. Her eyes are still wet and looming - the moist patch of her fallen tears sitting on your garment like a badge of honor - but her shivers have stopped. And for that, you are grateful.

She wipes at her nose instinctively, but instead of moving to her eyes; she places that hand gently over your chest.

"I said your clothes are comfy."

You are fully aware of the smile that forms on your lips once it starts to hurt, and that slight pain makes you think your smile is far too wide; far too readable. So of course, you try to hide that smile which only makes things worse. Your cheeks start to burn.

"They look good on you."

It's a loaded sentence, you know that. You _know _what it means, that it means you want the image of her, in your clothes, to be the sight you wake up to every morning for the rest of your life. And you know what that thought does to you - what it might do to her - if that thought were to be put out in the open. If she were to catch on, if she were to notice. And so you panic just a little, searching her face for any sign of knowledge, any sign of walls beginning to raise behind her glacier eyes. But her face gives away nothing - not one notion to you if she's heard your words for what they really are, a raw and dangerous confession - and you're not quite sure if you like that.

Her reply doesn't come, and so you take it upon yourself to study every inch of her in your clothes for the first time while you wait - wait for the unlikely reply to your stupid comment from one Gail Peck. Your faded Concrete Blonde t-shirt draped around her torso is both ironic, and utterly beautiful. You notice how the arms and shoulders hug her nicely - how on you it just falls and lays on your upper body so sloppily - and how it cascades effortlessly around her middle. How it's length stops at just the right place on her - her hips - where as on you; it's practically a skirt. Your vision gets to her knees, where your grey sweat pants are annoyingly covering her long - you expect silky - legs, before you hear her snort.

"What?" You ask, startled instantly out of your examination.

"You're _such _a _perve,_ Holly."

And you don't have a moment to respond to her remark - or even _blush _for that matter - because she's placed her lips on yours. Quite forcefully, if you really think about it. But nothing else matters, nothing else exists when she's kissing you. Because all you can feel is the warmth of her breath on your skin, her mellifluous lips pressed delicately upon your own. The walls have washed away into nothing more than cheap parlor tricks, the slight chill in the air is replaced with warmth; cascading around your entire body without any kind of resonance. The sound of your antique clock clicking away has become an inaudible muffle of vibration and timing, as her arm comes up to circle around your neck so gently; causing an implosion within your frantically beating heart. And your mind, oh your mind; has turned to nothing but haphazard rubble. A giant, gaping hole; a pile of stone and ash where a monumental city full of intelligence and information was once stacked so high within you.

"I like doing that."

She smiles against your mouth, as your eyes start to flutter open; allowing the world to seep back in through your pores.

"Hmm? Doing what, kissing me?"

"Well, _yes_..." she replies, satisfied smirk starting to curl at the edges of her mouth "But I meant the whole... _thing_ you do in response to the kiss. Like you've melted into a puddle of goo."

And there it is. She's noticed it. And you've been told that she's noticed, causing you to shut your eyes tight in the hopes that maybe you could wish this moment away - sweep it under the rug - forget it ever happened. But you know there is no way in hell she's going to let you forget, because she's caught you red handed.

"Don't get all _embarrassed, _Holly. It's just... I dunno. _Nice._"

You open your eyes and look at the floor, somewhat out of shame that you've been so easily captured; but also out of embarrassment. Now she knows exactly the kind of corollary she has on you.

"Yeah, well. I wish I had that effect on you too."

And she quirks an eyebrow up at you then - a bit in defiance, a little in shock - before she shakes her head in amusement.

"Shall I remind you of the coat room now, or later?"

_Ah, yes. The coat room. _

* * *

**Thanks again for reading, if you could find the time to leave a review; I will love you forever :)**

**I'm sorry if the scenes you guys requested aren't coming fast enough, but they're getting written as we speak; don't think I didn't hear you :)**

**Till next time? **

**xoV**


End file.
